


I Keep a Close Watch on This Heart of Mine

by broadlicnic, poTAYto416



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Cowboys, Gun Violence, M/M, Multi, Revenge, THIS IS A MEGBIG FIC, and brokeback mountain, and johnny cash's music, historical curtwen, minor gore, owen and dma are different people, this is inspired by the movie true grit, yes really we've lost our minds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-18 15:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadlicnic/pseuds/broadlicnic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poTAYto416/pseuds/poTAYto416
Summary: Trouble doesn't often come to Dick Big's sleepy town outside of Amarillo, Texas, and the Sheriff is longing for some action and adventure. He soon comes to regret this when the fearsome Chimera Gang ride into town, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. But they are not the only new faces. When a mysterious stranger dressed all in black and hell-bent on revenge shows up, will Sheriff Big set aside his principles to help take down the Chimera Gang once and for all?AKA MegBig Western AU.





	1. The Man in Black

**Author's Note:**

> Born from a discussion on the SAF server about the older members of the server collaborating on a fic, this...happened. The glorious ship MegBig does not get the respect it deserves so we are happy to produce the first multi-chapter MegBig epic for you now.
> 
> And since we're writing about our boy Dick Big, of course it's a Western! We got cowboys and gun fights and saloon brawls and horses all up in this madness.
> 
> Also giving shout-outs to our man Johnny Cash in the titles.
> 
> (There is also Curtwen content, you just gotta wait for it.)
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, the Informant is named Al, and the Deadliest Man Alive is named Walker.
> 
> Apologies to Dino for rejecting your "theories".

_ **November** _

Dick kept watch from the distant cliff edge, peering through the magnifier of his Sharps rifle as it poked over the ridge. The poison; he could already it feel coursing through his leg, and his breath was laboured. The colt had been mortally struck, and when Curt attempted to rein up with his teeth and turn to resume his attack, the horse fell to the side, pinning Curt under him.

The bodies of the other four littered the sand, and the wind was whipping something fierce. His shot would be complicated by the conditions. Dick watched as the man Baron rode upon Curt’s predicament, clutching his side with one hand as his other pointed a pistol down at the man trapped by his own steed.

Baron’s voice carried over the wind and echoed through the canyon. “Well, Mega, I am shot to pieces,” he snarled. “I guess none of us get to meet Judge Perkins.”

Dick’s sight was growing dim, his eyes congested by nausea. He had to release the shot; now was his only chance. Dick locked his shaking elbows by his knees to steady his aim as the scoundrel Baron cocked his gun. It only took a second to draw a bead and fire the powerful weapon. Dick didn’t know if he had been successful in his shot, only saw through the magnifier as Curt’s head whipped around at the sound of the firing, and then he was lost to the blackness.

\---

** _May_ **

Dick Big sat at his desk in the sheriff's office in the dead center of a large string of buildings, if one could call it ‘sitting’, anyhow: it was a rather uneventful Thursday afternoon in late May, when the sunlight was starting to grow seasonally warmer, and Dick leaned back in his chair casually, hat angled just so on his head to keep the sun from stinging his eyes, his boots propped up on the desk. His deputy, Kevin Derry, sat at his own desk, which was organized to the dickens. A cute little cow statue sat perched on the corner of it, he’d carved it himself out of a small piece of wood. Kevin was immensely proud of the cow he’d purchased for a single gold piece and kept on his own land. Her name was Lil’ Daisy and Kevin bragged that she produced the best milk in town, and that he should sell it to make extra profit. His wife, the postmistress, was less enthusiastic, often saying Lil’ Daisy would be more use to them as meat and leather.

The room was silent, save for the occasional flip of paper from Kevin’s end. He was busying himself by looking through case documents, how he usually passed the time on lazy days like today, though by now he could recite them verbatim, down to the punctuation. Still, it was something to do.

Suddenly, Dick sat up, heaving a heavy sigh that nearly startled Kevin out of his boots. “D’ya think that there’s just a lack’a people on the street t’day, Kevin?” 

“I think they’re all just in the bar, Sheriff,” Kevin said, clearing his throat and readjusting his cow that had fallen over. 

Another sigh escaped Dick’s lips, and he blew a raspberry as he rested an elbow on his desk, chin in his hand. “I s’pose yer right, Kevin, an’ I reckon I should be mighty thankful that the crime in the town’s been low this month, but I cain’t help but long fer a bit of _ adventure _, y’know? Puttin’ them bastards in them cells gives me a sorta rush, one I cain’t quite describe.” 

Kevin nodded in understanding. “You do a mighty great job of it, Sheriff,” he said, looking up to offer Dick a warm smile. “The best in town.”

“The _ only _ in town,” Dick corrected. 

Kevin would have only offered more praise and agreement, were it not for the door of the establishment flinging open. “Sheriff Big!” the man in the doorway cried, eyes wide and full of fear. “There’s a mighty rough brawl happenin’ in the saloon!” He rushed out without another word, leaving the door swinging shut behind him.

“_Shit_,” Dick muttered, grabbing his pistol and slipping it into his holster, though not before he shot Kevin a wide, toothy grin. “There it is, Kevin. _ Adventure awaits _,” he said, then gave a loud cry and ran out of the office, Kevin trailing behind him.

The saloon was only a bit of a ways away, two down and one across from the Sheriff’s office. Atop the swinging doors, several feet up, sat a sign that read “Tati’s”. Dick and Kevin rushed inside, and Dick quickly surveyed the scene: the entire place was in an uproar, everyone crowded in a circle around the chaos in the center. Dick sighed and shook his head in slight annoyance when he registered a mop of curly hair peek up over the crowd. “God dammit-” he grumbled, pushing his way through, just in time to see Al, the local drunk, shove another patron into a table nearby. Foamy beer dripped from his moustache, giving him the appearance of a dog ravished by rabies. Dick glanced to his right upon hearing a long stream of loud Russian cursing, gaze falling on Tatiana, the owner, whose face was nearly as red as her hair. 

Dick turned his attention back to the fight, looking just in time to get clocked in the face by Al’s fist. He stumbled backward, holding his now-sore cheek and reaching for his gun. He held it in the air and fired a warning shot into the ceiling and, after a cry of surprise from the crowd, the room settled, crowd dispersing to leave Al, a sweaty, gasping mess, doubled over in an attempt to catch his breath while his poor victim laid unconscious against a broken table, bruised and bloodied. “C’mon, Al,” Dick started. “I thought you’d given up yer bar fightin’ days?

Al peered down at his feet over a crooked nose, a drop of sweat falling from it and onto the floor. “I’m mighty sorry, Sheriff,” he hiccuped. “but that fella had the gall t’call me a _ cheater_! I don’t _ cheat_!”

Dick rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and trying to appear calm. “I’m well aware’a that, Al, but I’m afraid that we’ll hafta take y’in, on account’a this feller-“ he nodded at the poor lad on the floor, “-bein’ a silent witness’n all.”

Al gave a heavy sigh. “I s’pose yer in th’right, wouldn’be th’first time… sorry ‘bout yer cheek, Sheriff…” he peered up shyly at Dick’s already purpling cheek. “I hit y’awful hard…”

“S’alright, Al, it was’n accident, but we still hafta take you in.” Dick said, giving Kevin a wave of dismissal, and the deputy took Al off for his usual cell, one that had practically became home to him. Dick sat with a quiet grunt at the bar, finding comfort in the soft stool under his weight. “Tatiana, a nice beer, if y’please.”

Tatiana, who had finally gotten her cool, brushed herself off and pushed her hair out of her face in a huff. “One beer for the Sheriff,” she said, sliding the bottle over. “Thank you for situating that _ horrible _ scuffle, Sheriff Big, that Al is, how you say, _ a rowdy fellow_.”

Dick offered her a gentle nod of recognition, tipping his beer back and sighing in content as the liquid slipped down his throat. “That ‘e is, miss, that ‘e is. Sorry ‘e gave you’ns so much of a hassle, he can be quite the heavy drinker.” 

“And by that, you mean he _ is _ a heavy drinker.” Tatiana stated, leaning against the bar with a raised brow. She wiped a glass out with her rag, an amused smile playing at her lips.

“T’aint my business to talk ‘bout the misfortune of others, Miss Tatiana.” Dick warned, his own brow raised in return, and Tatiana held her hands up defensively. 

“Right, forgive me,” Tatiana said, shaking her head before returning to wiping her glass out. “I should be used to that by now, it is why you are such a good Sheriff, you never gossip.” Dick dipped his hat shyly, offering a soft “thank you, ma’am” before a loud crash alerted the both of them. “Der’mo...” Tatiana grumbled. “Vanger! Why must you be so _ clumsy _?!”

At the sound of his name, Vanger Borschtit stepped out into the light of the main room of the bar. Her cousin, he had only moved to Texas following the death of Tatiana’s husband some three years ago. “Greatest apologies, dear Tatiana, I did not mean for such an accident to happen- oh, hello, Mr. Big Sheriff.” Vanger’s accent was thick, thicker than Tatiana’s. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you.” 

“Not at all, Vanger, m’boy, not ’tall,” Dick said, knocking the rest of his beer back.

“Did you tell Big Sheriff about the information you heard about, Tatiana?” Vanger asked, setting to work cleaning off the bar with a wet rag.

“Information?” Dick leaned in toward the pair in intrigue. “Y’didnt tell me bout no information, Miss Tatiana.” He rolled the bottom of his beer bottle around on the counter.

Tatiana nodded, thanking Vanger quickly. “I had forgotten amidst the bar fight, forgive me. But yes, it’s been going around that there is a group of very dangerous men heading for Amarillo. They are called Chimera.”

Dick snapped to attention, gripping the beer bottle tightly in his fist. “The Chimera Gang? They’re headed _ here_? Where’d y’hear that from?” If the Chimera Gang was headed for their town, that wasn’t good news for _ anyone_. 

“I overheard one of the men who rode out last week talking with a few of the locals while I was closing. He said the Chimera Gang was freshly out of pillaging the town to the north. They took them for everything they had.”

“They also said that they had hardly left anyone alive, and that frightens me far too much to admit,” Vanger added. “My son…”

Tatiana gave a curt nod before turning back to Dick. “If they are truly on their way as the man said, we must prepare ourselves.”

Dick sighed and set the bottle down firmly on the bar. “I thank you, Miss Tatiana, yer information is much appreciated,” he said, tipping his hat to her before standing. He had to think of what to do, how to keep his people safe. If Chimera was closing in as quickly as they’d said… 

“Sheriff, what about him?” Dick glanced over his shoulder as he headed for the door to see Tatiana nodding toward the poor man on the ground, still unconscious.

“He’ll manage, I reckon. We’ll send Doctor Barbara for ‘im,” Dick said, giving another nod before passing out the swinging doors. “All in a day’s work,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he headed back for the sheriff’s office.

\---

When Dick got to the courthouse the next day, there was an old Indian woman on the witness stand; a young Indian boy interpreting for her. The business was slow, as the boy was not well-versed in English himself, and even the prosecutor was growing tired. The case was a straightforward one, nothing of much consequence. The Indian woman was witness to a brawl that took place in the inn where passing tradespeople generally took their lodgings. The innkeeper was not in court that day, on account of the leg he had broken in the resulting fight when the apothecary standing trial tried to abscond without payment. Instead, he was represented by his wife, Mrs Cynthia Houston. A fearsome woman if ever Dick had met one, Cynthia was small in stature but hardened by her years of dealing with timewasters. She took the stand next. She was about forty years of age, and a slight woman, but with a fierce, stern face. She placed her hand on the bible and swore her honest testimony, which was satisfactory to the judge. The prosecutor, a bearded man by the name of Mr Davidson, stepped forward.

“State your name and occupation, please,” he said.

“Cynthia Houston. I am employed in the Houston Inn with my husband the owner, and have been for some twenty years,” Cynthia said, a little bitterly. It was money that gave her husband ownership of the inn, but like with Tatiana and the saloon in the days of her husband’s survival, everybody who knew the town knew the women ruled the roost of those establishments.

“On May 2nd, were you carrying out your official duties?” Mr. Davidson asked.

“I sure was, sir,” Cynthia said. “I was preparin’ the breakfast whilst my husband manned the front desk. This man did not pay my husband for his lodgings.”

“Mrs. Houston, please refrain from rushin’ through your story, so that the court might be illuminated as to the details of the fray,” Mr Davidson warned.

Dick occupied himself with staring at the chipped paint on the bench before him. Court days drew big crowds, on account of trials happening rarely in the town and folks attending questioning as a source of entertainment. This trial was not an interesting one, however, and the case was cut and dried. Dick had been the one to arrest the apothecary, and had already heard Mrs. Houston’s story when taking her testimony. Beside him, Kevin was fidgeting with his gun belt, equally restless. His testimony had already been delivered the preceding day, and Dick’s was due to follow Mrs. Houston’s. It would be a repeat of the same information, and the trial would not last long.

Tatiana closed the saloon on trial days, for she would not have much patronage, and indeed she occupied the viewing gallery with her barkeep Vanger. His simple son Feurgin was not to be seen, for children were rarely brought to the courthouse, and Dick surmised he must be kept occupied by Vanger’s wife in the small rooms they kept upstairs at the saloon at Tatiana’s convenience. The majority of the town were inside, however, save the drunk Al, still stewing in his cell, the doctor, a few merchants, and the gunseller Sergio, who rarely left his store unattended in the day on account of it being a prime spot for robbing.

Mrs. Houston was coming to the end of her tale when a loud gunshot rang out. It was not indoors, but it was loud enough that the noise echoed through the courthouse and sent fear through those assembled inside. Dick met Kevin’s eye and reached for his holster as they pushed through the crowds to the courthouse door. Dick pushed open the heavy cedarwood as Kevin aimed his pistol through the opening. The street was deserted but they soon became aware of a ruckus coming from the bakery. Dick began to run for the building but Kevin called out for him.

“Sheriff!” he cried, “look yonder!”

Dick turned his head to see, in a haze of sand and dust, the retreating gallop of three men on horseback. They all wore black, but their distance was too great for any distinguishing feature. Dick aimed his pistol and shot for one of the horse’s legs, but the reach on the weapon was not great enough to wound the animal, and Dick knew pursuit was fruitless.

“C’mon, Deputy,” Dick said, holstering his weapon and running for the bakery.

He was first greeted as he opened the door by the gunseller Sergio Santos with his hands in the air. For a dealer of weaponry, Sergio rarely wore a gun about his person, insisting he was only in the trade of arms to provide financially for his wife and children. His eyes were wide and terrified, and he cried out in relief when he saw Dick.

“Oh Sheriff, it’s terrible,” Sergio said, his Mexican accent growing thicker in his fear. “_ ¡ _ _ Ay dios mio! _” he cried.

“Mr. Santos, Imma need ya t’stay calm,” Kevin said, but Dick had already seen what had Sergio so frightened. The bakery had been ransacked, glass littered the floor, as did cloth bags and loaves of bread. The baker’s safe was open, swinging on its hinges and empty, and the baker himself, he was barely recognisable. He’d been shot only once, but it was in the head, and it was a messy shot, for the bullet had entered under his chin but in an upward trajectory, spraying the poor man’s blood over the walls. Part of his jaw had come away in the blast. Dick had seen a good many gun wounds in his time as sheriff, but none quite so gruesome.

“Fetch the doctor,” Dick barked out, and Kevin immediately went running out into the street. Crowds had gathered by the bakery’s entrance, but thankfully the baker had been sat in such a position at the unfortunate moment of his death that his state was hidden from view.

“Mr. Santos,” Dick said calmly, approaching the gunseller with trepidation and his hands raised to show he was not holding his own pistol, “Imma need ya t’take a deep breath.”

“I was only buying bread for my wife!” Sergio cried, half-crazed.

“Sergio, please,” Dick tried again. “Can ya describe t’me the person who shot the unfortunate man?”

“That is the thing, Sheriff,” Sergio sobbed. “I seen him before, on a Wanted poster in your office. He looked awful like Mr. Walker, from the _Chimera Gang_!”

Dick’s stomach turned. Just yesterday Tatiana had warned of the Chimera Gang’s close proximity, but their small town just outside of Amarillo was not the richest. Dick had surmised that the gang had no reason to target business here when the city lay just an hour’s ride away. Unless these men did not care so much for the spoils of their pillages, only for the spilling of blood itself.

Kevin returned promptly with the town’s doctor by his side. A petite blonde woman, Barbara was professional in the sight of even the worst horrors. It was almost unheard of for a woman to study doctoring, especially to be the main doctor in a place, but Barbara’s parents had recognised a gift in her from a young age and got her apprenticed to a physician out in El Paso, and she travelled Texas in search of work later, finally alighting on Dick’s community. Dick, having been raised in the most part by his good ma after his pa died young of yellow fever, had a lot of respect for a woman’s authority.

“Well, Sheriff, I do not know what I can tell ya,” Barb said. “The man is surely dead, and I don’t need to autopsy. Best be puttin’ th’call straight to the undertaker.”

“I know that, doc,” Dick said. “I need you t’look at Mr. Santos here.” He gestured a little to Sergio, who flinched at the movement. “The poor man been suffered an awful fright, an’ see how there’s blood on his palm.” Sergio lifted his hand, only now seeming to realise that glass was buried deep in his hand. “I shall have to question you, Mr. Santos, but I will return when th’doc say yer healthy.”

Dick rose to his feet, from where he’d been crouching to reassure the frightened gunseller, and nodded grimly at Kevin. The grim sight was too much for the young boys apprenticed to the undertaker to transport the bodies. They would have to carry the unfortunate baker themselves.

\---

Dick rubbed the bridge of his nose, ignoring his tired eyes as they burned, begging for the comfort of resting for the night. Instead, they were running over the wanted poster over and over again, trying to memorize each and every detail of the bastards. Time had ceased to pass in Dick’s mind as he did this: had minutes passed? Hours? He didn’t care. He wanted to know the ins and outs of these hooligans so he knew how to properly and efficiently take them down.

“Y’know,” Kevin started. “That thing’s only gonna tell you so much, Sheriff.” He was stretched back at his desk, working through a bit of paperwork that had been sent over from the courthouse down the way. “Them posters, them papers, they can only tell you so much. It’s how they were perceived while they were there, not truly how their minds work.”

“I know, Kevin. But it cain’t hurt tryin’, now can it? Do we have anymore’a them papers on ‘em?” Dick turned to Kevin, bracing himself on his knees. “I wanna learn what makes these suckers _ go_, then I wanna light a mighty bright fire under their asses.”

“It’s ‘cause we ain’t got th’right power,” Al piped up from his cell, making Kevin, who’d forgotten he was there, jump in surprise. “Wanna infiltrate… weak...” he said, voice trailing off as he slumped against the wall, passing out once more in a deep slumber despite the alcohol now being out of his system. 

Dick shook his head. “What a shame,” he muttered, “I had got t’thinkin’ we might give ol’ Al his freedom tonight.” He turned back to the wall to gaze up at his foes once more, spending a few more hours studying before ultimately giving up with a heavy sigh, looking back to see that Kevin was falling asleep at his desk. “I reckon you might be r’lieved of yer duties tonight, Deputy, ain’t no use no how.”

Kevin snapped to attention, nearly knocking the tiny cow off of his desk and onto the floor. He caught it just in time before it went careening to the floor. “I-I suspect I might, Sheriff, thank ya.” He said, standing and brushing himself off, heading for the door. Before he left, however, he looked back at Dick. “You aren’t gonna stay here all night, are you?”

Dick, whose attention was back to the posters, waved his comment away without even glancing at him. “Nah, I reckon I’ll retire for th’evenin’ as well. G’night, Mr. Derry.”

Kevin furrowed his brow, but didn’t speak against it. “G’night, Sheriff.” He said before heading out the door.

With a sigh and a rub of his eyes, Dick glanced at the posters a final time before standing and stretching, groaning as several joints popped. He stumbled sleepily over to one of the small cots he kept in the back corner of the office, near the cells, rolling onto it. He stared up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, deep in thought and listening to Al’s heavy snores, until sleep overtook him. 

He’d beat those bastards if it killed him.

\---

Dick had seen many a dead body in his time. One of the duties of being the Sheriff was to oversee the gallows, though he was blessed not to do the executing or cut down the bodies himself. He was called to homes where men had been shot to death over some skirmish. A robbery or a fight over a woman. He paid his respects in the undertaker’s to every fine old woman whose heart had given way and paid for the construction of coffins when a poor child could not afford a proper burial for their ma or pa. Dick was quite acquainted with the dead.

He was still not prepared for the body that greeted him on the steps of the Sheriff’s office that morning.

The month was May, and the summer heat was creeping in. As such, the flies had already started to gather. The man was slumped forwards, his face hidden by his dark longcoat that had flipped to cover his head in his landing. A shot in the night surely would have awakened Dick, and the man was riddled with holes. This man had been killed far away, and transported in the night to Dick’s convenience. Dick did not lend credence to vigilante justice. It was possible he had been delivered by some passing Marshall, but Dick did not like to do business with bounty hunters. He was a firm believer that every man deserved a trial.

But if he was to make one exception, it would be the Chimera Gang, and as Dick kicked the man over with his boot, lifting his neckerchief to cover his nose and mouth as he did, he was greeted with a face he recognised from the Wanted poster hanging in his very office. Hans Wilder was a man Dick had known in youth. His grandparents had travelled to the Americas from Austria decades past, in search of fortune and prosperity. But Hans’ parents had been fond of the drink, and their gold soon found itself in the pockets of Tatiana and her late husband. They had not been given a respectful burial; Hans had rejected Dick’s offer of financial aid and buried them himself in the small area of land he had inherited. Then he had taken off in the night on the back of a stolen horse, and the next Dick heard of him was a postcard detailing his brutal murder of five people out in Arkansas. That had been when Dick first learnt of the Chimera Gang.

Dick supposed he should mourn the man. They had been friends for a time, and had learnt to ride together. But the baker’s body lay even now in the undertaker’s, his wife already looking to sell the business and take their children across the border back to her family in Oklahoma. And there was no time for mourning when the question of who shot the wretched soul remained unanswered.

“Sheriff?” It was Feurgin, Vanger’s son. Hastily, Dick covered Hans’ face with the longcoat once more.

“Now, you go on an’ fetch the Deputy for me, boy,” he said, resting a comforting hand on Feurgin’s small shoulder. “An’ don’t get to dilly-dallyin’.”

“Is that man dead?” the boy asked, reaching forward to grab the longcoat. Dick slapped his hand away.

“This is no sight for you,” he said sharply. “Now fetch me the Deputy then go on to yer daddy, y’hear?”

“Yes, Sheriff,” Feurgin nodded, rubbing at his hand. He scurried off, dust and sand flying into the air with the pounding of his tiny feet. Dick crouched low, picking up a shell that had clattered to the ground. The man had not been shot in the town, so either his killer had dropped the shell in a moment of clumsiness, or he intended for it to be found. The bullet was .44 caliber rimfire ammo, surely intended for a Winchester. He had a box of the shells himself in his desk drawer, that Sergio had gone to great pains acquiring for him. They were expensive ammo in these parts. Dick entertained for a moment that perhaps the shell had fallen from his own pocket, but he only carried his pistol on his person in his day-to-day, bringing out his Winchester only when out on a hunt for rabbits or if he knew he was closing in on a criminal.

Kevin arrived not ten minutes later with the undertaker and the doctor in tow. At that time, Dick had already surmised that Hans had been shot five times, four in the chest and one in the head, but there were only three exit wounds, meaning that there were still bullets about his person. If these bullets belonged to different guns, it was possible Hans had been shot by multiple men, maybe killed by a rival gang, or by the other men in the Chimera Gang if he had outgrown his usefulness or committed a foolishness that Hans was prone to do. Mr. Walker, their leader, was known as the Deadliest Man Alive in these parts for his ruthlessness, and was not above gunning down his own men in cold blood.

“I will need help transportin’ him,” Barbara said. “Maybe two boys, for he’s carryin’ a hefty weight on him.”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” Kevin said. “I’ll carry him to your practice myself.”

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you, Deputy,” said the doctor. “You say he turned up on your doorstep in the night, Sheriff?”

“That’s right,” Dick nodded.

“Well I’ll be,” Barbara said and whistled. “This man been dead fer at least three days, judgin’ by the state of him. Would someone not have noticed a man ridin’ with a dead fella on their saddle fer three days?”

“A body can be useful for trade out on the trail, doc,” Dick said. “Check his mouth for teeth, sometimes men like to sell ‘em, particularly if they have gold in there.” 

“Will do, Sheriff,” Barbara said.

The undertaker had been quiet during this exchange, but now lowered his hat to his chest and spoke up. “You want me to be preparin’ a coffin, Sheriff?”

“This man is Hans Wilder,” Dick told him, watching the older man’s face change in recognition. He had lived in this town a long time, had remembered Hans refusing Dick’s offer of purchasing their coffins. “We will bury him in the Wilder’s old land, with his parents.”

“Right you are, Sheriff,” the undertaker said, and hurried away. 

“Sheriff,” Kevin asked. “You think the man who left him here weren’t the man who shot the poor soul?”

“I do not know, Deputy,” Dick admitted. “If the man is missing ‘is teeth, then perhaps he was left here by a trader with no more use fer him. If his teeth remain, I do reckon we have a vigilante on our hands.”

“Sheriff,” Barbara said grimly. She had removed the longcoat, and had prized open Wilder’s lips with a glove-covered finger. “His teeth remain.”

\---

Hans Wilder had upon his person two California gold pieces. These were rare in the state of Texas, and even so, a man keeping hold of his gold even after death was unheard of. Bodies were often ransacked before the authorities were alerted. This settled the doubt in Dick’s mind. Whoever had left Hans on his doorstep had also been his killer, and had no intentions of robbing the man. His motivations for filling the man with lead remained a mystery, and that chilled Dick to the bone. 

He had taken up a stool in Tatiana’s. The good woman herself was singing for the patrons at the piano. She had been an entertainer before her late husband’s death, after which she inherited the saloon and replaced his name over the door with her own. Tatiana had never loved her husband, that much was obvious, but it was the poor man that had provided her passage to America, and to her now-substantial fortune. When Tatiana sang, a hushed awe fell over the patrons. Even Al seemed to sober at the sound of her voice. It was a melancholy tune that she sang now, the word of the dead man having reached most of the town, and only a day after the loss of the baker. Trouble did not come to these parts often, and a fear hung in the air.

Dick had been surprised to find Feurgin in the bar, considering his recent brush with death. But Feurgin was a simple boy, and perhaps did not understand the graveness of the situation he had stumbled upon that morning. Besides, Vanger tended the bar as his employer enchanted with her song, and it was Vanger who kept the whiskey coming.

“Say,” Vanger said quietly, so as not to disturb Tatiana’s song, “man you found. Was it truly Hans Wilder?”

“Truly,” Dick nodded, as Vanger poured him another shot. “The last of the Wilder family.”

“A sorry business, Mr. Big Sheriff, a sorry business,” Vanger agreed. “I did not meet Hans in the past, but I sure as hell heard of cruelty of Chimera Gang.”

“What do you know, Vanger?”

“Very little, Big Sheriff,” Vanger said, defensively. “But every man in Texas know story of Chimera Gang! And now one in our town, dead as he is. You do not think the baker was killed by them, do you?”

“It’s a possibility,” Dick said. “Sergio described a man who looked awful like Mr. Walker.”

“_The Deadliest Man Alive_,” Vanger gasped in a mixture of fear and reverence. “How do you suppose man come by that name?”

“I should imagine through a lot of shootin’,” Dick said dryly. He pushed his shot glass away, not terribly keen to keep drinking whiskey on an empty stomach. He hoped Tatiana was serving food that day, on account of the bakery’s closure.

“Do you imagine the Chimera Gang have business in this town?” Vanger asked.

“I do not entertain hypotheticals,” Dick said. “The world is vexin’ enough.”

Before Vanger could open his mouth to reply, the saloon doors swung open, and Tatiana’s song fell silent on her lips. Dick could hear a pin drop in the silence that took over the room. The new arrival paused in the doorway for a moment, casting a quick glance about the saloon. He stepped forward, his spurs jangling and the floorboards creaking as he did.

The stranger wore a dark leather jacket over a black shirt, the wide brim of his black stetson casting a shadow over his face. He was a bearded fellow, and not a man to keep himself well-groomed. The wiry hair only served to illuminate his scowl, and the glare in his one visible eye. His other remained covered by an eyepatch, a long, thick scar emerging from the shadows to meet its end in the centre of his left cheek. He wore a gun belt around his jacket, and carried only one revolver. Its grips were made of cedar and it was an ordinary looking piece. His gun belt was not fancy like Dick’s own, made of plain and narrow brown leather, with no cartridge loops to be seen. He also wore a dirk knife on his person, and in a saddle scabbard at his thigh was a pistol, this one gleaming with white handles. This gun he must have taken as a prize from another unfortunate gentleman. The man also carried a Winchester repeating rifle on his back. At the sight of it, Dick’s mind returned to the shell he had found by Hans Wilder’s body. His first thought was _ trouble _.

The man in black approached the bar. At that moment, Feurgin ran out from behind the bar, and Tatiana grabbed his small wrist as he tried to pass the piano. The stranger slid onto a stool a few seats away from Dick, and wrapped a knuckle on the polished wood surface.

“Drink,” he grunted.

Vanger, who still held the bottle of whiskey for the Sheriff, took up a glass and poured a large one for the stranger.

“Much obliged,” the man muttered.

Slowly, life returned to the saloon as the stranger turned his back on the patrons, sipping his drink slowly as he stared intently at the collection of bottles behind the bar. Tatiana abandoned her place at the piano to gather up a few glasses.

“My apologies, ma’am,” Dick said, after rising from his seat and crossing the room to her. “Imma need your assistance.”

“I have a business to run, Sheriff,” Tatiana said dismissively.

“I do not like to involve civilians in the business of my office, but I need ya to talk to the man,” Dick explained.

“Why would I do that?” She knew what Dick was asking, he had asked this favor of her before, but Tatiana was a woman who loved to protest.

“Two killin’s,” Dick said in a hushed tone, “the body of Hans Wilder on my doorstep. We cannot have a stranger in our town without knowin’ his business. 

“Why do you not ask him?” Tatiana sniffed.

“I cannot damn well interrogate the man with a sheriff’s badge gleamin’ on my chest!”

Abandoning her tray, Dick watched from a table in a shadowed, far corner as Tatiana slipped into the seat beside the stranger. She extended a slender, delicate hand for him to shake. This was a game she was very adept at playing. She knew how to entice a stranger with promises of a night in her bed, only to reveal herself as the publican when a stranger had been plied with too much drink and loosened his tongue. Each time, she cursed Dick in Russian for the tactic, but it did yield results. 

Not this time, however. The man in black shrugged off Tatiana’s hand on his shoulder, barely gave her bosom a glance, and left quickly not five minutes later.

Dick took the man’s vacated seat as the doors swung shut.

“What happened?”

“He was not interested,” Tatiana said.

“Ev’ry man in Texas interested in you, Miss Tatiana,” Dick replied.

“You are not,” Tatiana laughed.

“I ain’t ev’ry man,” Dick said with a raised eyebrow. “Did you get anythin’?”

“A little,” Tatiana said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “His name is Mega. He has a room at Houston’s Inn, and I am not welcome to join him in it.”

Dick’s gaze fell once more on the long-closed saloon doors. “Mega,” he said, more to himself than Tatiana. “Well that’s a name I ain’t ever heard before.”


	2. Solitary Man

That afternoon, Dick headed out for the main property of the Houstons’. Truthfully, he’d always held a fear in his heart for the lady of the house, Cynthia, cold and calloused as she was, but she got the job done, and she got it done her way, the _ right _way. In the back of his mind, Dick couldn’t help but pity her husband if he ever crossed her. Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned and all.

Still, despite every muscle in his body telling him to do otherwise, to run in fear and forget the man in black and his mysterious ways, he knocked on the door, hardly rapping twice before it flung open. “What do you want- oh, hello, Sheriff. The question remains.” She was half his height, if that, but Dick still managed to look her in the eye, dipping his hat.

“Ma’am. I hate t’disturb ya-“

“Good. Then leave.”

“-_ but _ I did have a few questions for ya,” Dick finished, keeping eye contact to show he wasn’t afraid, even if he was. He felt a bit silly, almost like a little pup.

The woman gave a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I s’pose I cain’t say no to the ‘thorities, come on in, Sheriff.” She stepped aside, and Dick entered the Houstons’ home, removing his hat from his head. He’d only seen it from the outside, but the inside was just as he’d expected: quaintly furnished, and slightly grim. 

In a chair to the right of the door sat Cynthia’s husband, Arthur, his leg propped up and wrapped carefully and meticulously, no doubt the work of Doctor Barbara. “Howdy, Sheriff Big, to what do we owe th’pleasure?” Arthur said, starting to stand until Dick shook his head.

“I’ve only come t’ask some questions of yer lovely wife, if I may?” Dick asked, gesturing to Cynthia, who scoffed.

“His lovely wife may answer for herself, _ thank you very much. _Right this way, Sheriff.” She pulled him into a small washroom, pulling the door shut behind them so that they might have a bit of privacy. “Right, now, what’s this question y’have for me?” Cynthia asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

Dick cleared his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I only came to ask about one of yer tenants, Mr.-“

“That mighty fearsome fella, _ that’s _ who you’re after?” Cynthia gave a snort. “I wish you the best of luck with your investigation, Sheriff, but might I suggest that you just _ talk to the man _-“

“Tatiana said that he’s stayin’ in the inn, Cynthia, I know y’must know _ somethin_’.”

With a heavy, resigned sigh, Cynthia closed her eyes. “Fine. All I know is that he paid his money for a full week at the inn before he ev’n unpacked a bag.”

Dick’s brow crept up his forehead. “A full week, huh? Why d’ya reckon that?”

“I dunno, I didn’t think t’ask ‘im. Ooh, I know! Next time he comes ‘round, I’ll ask ‘im how he got that heinous scar and eyepatch while I’m at it!”

Dick rolled his eyes in annoyance. “C’mon, now, Cynthia! Surely y’know _ somethin _ mighty interestin’!”

Cynthia offered a noncommittal shrug. “He left his horse with Susan, a big one, too, strong thighs. Black, like his character. _ An’is soul!” _

_ “Cynthia_,” Dick cautioned with a heavy sigh.

Cynthia held her hands up defensively. “Fine, fine… I still think you should talk t’im, ask’im who he is yerself, and why ‘e’s here. Lest y’wanna be taken for a pansy,” she tested, raising a brow.

“A pansy I am not, Mrs. Houston. I thank y’fer yer cooperation,” Dick said, dipping his head before stepping back out into the main room. “Arthur, I hope yer leg heals up mighty quick, and yer back on yer feet soon ‘nough.”

Arthur offered him a soft, shy smile. “I thank y’kindly, Sheriff. I reckon I’ll be healed up’n no time.” He said, leaning back in the chair.

“If y’need anythin’, just let me know,” Dick said, reaching to pat his shoulder.

“Much obliged,” Arthur smiled, nodding at Dick as he stepped out, flopping his hat back onto his head.

\---

The stables weren’t too far off from the inn, only a short walk. Dick had only been to the stables a few times, to settle disputes with passers-by who had made the mistake of crossing Susan, if not trying to take advantage of him, then making fun of his name. Dick could only imagine that life ain’t easy for a boy named Sue.

Upon entry, Dick was greeted by the soft ‘Ting! Ting!’ from an anvil back in the far corner of the stables. “Susan?” he called, reaching up on his tiptoes and craning his neck to see if he could spot the man.

A soft clang was heard, followed immediately by a soft curse. “Dag- here I am, Sheriff!” Susan stood up from his workspace, hurrying over to stand before Dick. He wasn’t considerably shorter than Dick, though that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. He offered Dick a lopsided smile, running a nervous hand through his messy mop of curls. “What, uh… what can I do ya for, Sheriff, to what do I owe this esteemed pleasure?”

Dick couldn’t help but smile warmly down at Susan. He almost felt… _ protective _over him somehow, his shyness exuding from him, giving off a strange warmth. “What c’n ya tell me ‘bout this Mega feller, if y’don’t mind my askin?”

Susan blinked up at him in slight confusion. “That’s the man who brought in Colt, right? Colt Mega was his horse, I b’lieve… I didn’t think t’ask ‘im any questions, fer I was so fearful at the sight of ‘im that I nearly forgot my durned name! Of course, when I gave it to ‘im, he didn’t laugh like them other gentlemen do. I… I s’pose, though he’s rather intimidatin’... that makes ‘im kinda nice.” He smiled softly to himself, in disbelief that anyone would do such a thing. “I’m awful sorry I couldn’t be of much help, Sheriff…”

“That’s alright, Susan, no worries. Might I see this Colt Mega? Certainly a man as frightful and intimidatin’ as Mr. Mega has a mighty fearful horse to match, I’d reckon?”

Susan rocked nervously on his heels. “Normally, I’d be against it, but seein’ as yer the Sheriff, I feel mighty obliged, so I’ll show ya.” Susan took Dick around to a private bit of the stables where there stood a mighty, black horse. No socks, no visible markings… though Dick supposed that that was differentiating enough for him to spot Colt Mega in a crowd of two dozen. 

Dick, body working on its own, stepped toward the stall, and reached out to tentatively stroke Colt’s face. Rather than thrashing his head away, as Dick had anticipated, the horse instead nuzzled Dick’s palm lovingly, and it brought a smile to his face, and a question to his mind: _ how could such a sweet, loving horse have such a dark and dangerous owner? _

\---

Realizing that he wasn’t going to get the answers that he wanted by asking about Mega directly, Dick decided to take a different approach to things. He headed just outside of Amarillo’s main city where Sergio Santos resided.

Rather than asking about the mysterious man in black, Dick decided that he was going to ask for more details about the shooting of the baker only a day or so prior. Maybe Mega was connected to the shooting, maybe Dick could bring him to justice, and question him in the cells. He hated not knowing anything about him, not even knowing his _ name, _having to call him ‘Mega’. 

Sergio’s home was small, but sufficient: it functioned as a proper home, and that was all that Sergio could ask for in these trying times. The door gave a soft thunk as Dick knocked on it, and it swung open much to his surprise; not because Sergio was on the other side to open it, but because it was just that frail and rickety. “Mr. Santos?” Dick called politely.

Sergio, who was busy working on repairing a small wooden train, jumped in surprise, the toy in his lap falling to the floor, and he sighed as a wheel popped off and rolled across the floor. “_¡Ay dios mio _ , Sheriff, you scared the _ pantalones _ right off of me! How can I be of help to you today, _ Señor Gran Hombre? _”

Dick shook his head. “My ‘pologies, Mr. Santos, I just had a few questions fer ya, if ya don’t mind, ‘bout the shootin’ at the bakery?”

Sergio shook his head quickly. “No, Sheriff, I do not mind at all! Ask your questions, the more I can help, the better.”

Dick nodded once before starting. “Can ya describe th’man fer me, the best y’can?”

Sergio’s brow furrowed in concentration as he ran through his head the events of that day. “I am afraid not, señior, for I did not see his face too good, and I told you that he looked like Mr. Walker from the Chimera Gang.”

“None at all? No definin’ physical characteristics? Scars, body, hair, height?”

Sergio considered this, then continued. “I… He was about your height, señor, with hair… light. Brown, but could have been blonde.”

“Was he a big man, or a tiny guy? Could he push a cart like a man should?”

“Oh, yes, sir, a _ big _ fellow. Looked as if he could take down three _ muchachos _ in one go,” Sergio nodded quickly.

“And yer _ certain _he looked like the wanted poster? He looked like Walker?”

“_Absolutely _certain, Señor.”

Dick sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I thank ya, Sergio, fer yer assistance.”

“_Hola _, Sheriff,” came a soft voice suddenly, and Dick turned to see Sergio’s youngest daughter, Amada, peering around the corners tousled dark hair falling into her face, nearly hiding her shy, albeit bright, smile.

“Howdy, ma’am,” Dick said, returning the smile easily and squatting to her level as Amada ran to her father’s arms.

“_Papí _, have you fixed my train?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Before Sergio could answer, Dick piped up. “Amada, how’d you like a brand _ new _train, Hmm? A nice n’ shiny one, painted real pretty?”

The girl gasped, and Sergio pulled her close. “What do you say, _ abeja_?”

“_Sí, por favor_, _ Señor _Sheriff!” Amada nodded quickly, eyes wide as dinner plates and sparkling like the moon.

Dick chuckled softly, ruffling her hair. “I’ll get it to you soon’s I can.”

“You don’t have to do that, señor…” Sergio said, a shy smile playing at his lips.

“Nonsense,” Dick insisted. “it’s my pleasure. Y’all have a good day, now.” He said, stepping out of the home and back into the sunlight. Back to square one, he thought.

\---

That night, Dick followed his routine as he usually did: he made himself supper for one, with beans and bread, and a bowl of potatoes he’d mashed himself. After all, sure he was a man on his own, a lone wolf, but it didn’t render him incompetent enough to mash his own potatoes. He washed his face with water from the well that he’d collected in a bucket, placed before a mirror. He changed into his bedclothes, running a hand through his hair to give it some relief from the stiffness it had been subject to all day.

He crawled into bed and blew out the candle by his bedside, snuggling under the quilt that Mrs. Santos had given him as a gift a few years back. It’d had many a rip and tear since then, but Mrs. Santos was always more than happy to fix it for him.

Sleep usually came to Dick quickly. His job, as it turned out, didn’t offer him any slow days. Every waking moment was the turn of a new leaf, the start of a new adventure for him and his best companion, Kevin. He settled into the bed with a soft sigh, closing his eyes, willing the adventures of their coming days to wash over him in his sleep like the vast blue ocean.

But those adventures did not come. At least not how Dick particularly cared to admit that he wanted them to.

That night’s dreams were… very different.

The dream started normally: beginning with he and Kevin seated in the sheriff’s office. Immediately, as his subconscious surveyed the scene, Dick realized that something was fishy. The cow that usually rested on Kevin’s desk was now upside down, small wooden legs stuck up in the air helplessly. Dick almost thought he’d heard it moo for help.

“Sheriff,” Dream Kevin began. “have you seen my stamp book?” He was searching through his desk frantically, brows furrowed in worry. If Kevin had ever misplaced his stamp book, it would surely mean the end of the world.

“Nah, Kevin ‘m sorry, but I haven’t seen her stamp book, d’ya know where ya left it?”

“I could’ve _ sworn _ I left it here… maybe I left it outside when I was milkin’ Lil’ Daisy.” Dick blinked in confusion, and was about to interject when Kevin simply stood from his desk to hurry outside, distraught. “Where is it, _ where is it_?” Kevin cried, pacing around outside.

“Now, just a minute there, partner, where-“ Dick’s words left him, his train of thought falling silent as he stepped outside. Rather than his good friend Kevin standing outside as he’d expected, there was no one. Nothing but the stretch of the town, which seemed to stretch even longer still, impossibly so, until it vanished off into the distance. Dick turned with a frown, hoping to find Kevin, but his efforts were fruitless. “Kevin? Where’d ya go, friend?”

The soft crunch of gravel turned Dick’s attention back behind him once more, and he quickly turned on his heel, trying to peer out into the distance, which proved a difficult task due to the quickly darkening sky that loomed overhead. Still, though, in that darkness, Dick could just start to make out the blurry shape of a shadowy figure, making its way toward him. Dick raised up into his tiptoes, his own boots crunching the gravel underneath him under his weight. “Kevin?” He called, craning his neck. “Is that you?”

There was no response. The figure didn’t stop, still coming toward Dick far faster than anyone’s normal walking speed should’ve been for the town to be so extended. As it neared him, Dick realized that, indeed, the figure was not his friend Kevin, but that of a man with a much larger build, and a wide-brimmed Stetson placed at an angle on top of his head. He could just make out the rippled muscles that bulged out from under the man’s shirt, and Dick nearly ran in fear, but something wouldn’t let him, instead keeping him there, tethered to the ground where he stood, stomach twisted into horrible knots. 

Closer still the figure crept, and Dick could see more defining features now, miraculously, in the darkness: a tight, black shirt that illuminated the aforementioned muscles, with two buttons left undone at the top. The sparse scattering of chest hair was visible. The Stetson cast too much of a shadow in the dark to be able to see the stranger’s face, not that he could see much of it for the bushy beard that peeked out into Dick’s line of sight.

Wait- _ beard- _

Dick’s brow furrowed as he strained his neck farther, trying to see the man’s face. He recognized him, he knew that he did.

Suddenly, the man’s face came into view, Dick’s eyes meeting one of the mysterious stranger’s, then falling onto the eyepatch that rested over his other.

_ This man was Mega_.

Only… this man didn’t seem quite as terrifying as he did in the saloon. The way that this light hit him, the moonlight that now shone down bouncing off of him like something straight out of a fairytale, his hair peeking out under his broad Stetson, a sudden gust of wind whipping through his unkempt beard. And the _ muscles _.

The muscles were what intrigued Dick the most. He hadn’t had time to notice them in the saloon, but now that he could, he realized just how much they protruded out from the man. He was built like a house, and looked as if he could tear Dick’s head from his body easily and without a second thought, and he probably would, since he was more than likely working for the Chimera Gang.

Or, perhaps, Dick thought to himself, that Mega wasn’t really _ that _muscular after all, that his subconscious was making him out to be that way. But why? He didn’t understand, what made Mega so different from all of the other men that lived in Amarillo?

As Dick returned his attention to the man, he barely had time to register Mega pulling his Winchester rifle from his back, aiming it skillfully at Dick without breaking his stride, and shooting him point blank between the eyes.

Darkness.

Dick bolted upright into a sitting position, and he was breathing incredibly heavily. In his moments of panic, he reached for his own handgun that he kept under his pillow beside him, hand shaky as he aimed it sporadically around the room, trying to catch his racing breath. Once he realized that Mega was indeed not in his room, he tossed the gun aside and rubbed his face with both hands. “Holy _ shit _ …” Dick said aloud, recanting everything that had just happened in his mind. What _ was _that, and why had it happened?

No matter, he thought to himself. Better go back to sleep, lest he be too exhausted to function in the morning. Still, though, as he lay back down and closed his eyes…

_ Mega_.

All he could see, his whole vision. Mega’s face, at a better angle now. His eye that was visible was a soft hazel, and it was piercing straight through Dick. The scar was long, stretching far over the eyepatch. And the _ muscles_. Why his attention kept returning to Mega’s muscles, Dick would never understand. Still, he had to admire them, the way that they nearly ripped through the shirt that seemed thin as a leaf that was wrapped around Mega’s body.

Dick’s eyes flashed open. _ What was he doing? _ “Alright, then, that’s ‘nough ‘a that, gotta head to _ sleep _ now,” he said, settling back in, closing his eyes once more.

_ Mega. _

Dick, with a groan of agitation, sat up once more. What the hell was happening? Why couldn’t he get Mega out of his head? He reached blindly to light the candle at his bedside, heading back over to splash a bit of water into his face. That’d surely clear his mind. He headed back to bed with a content sigh, curling back up under his quilt, and closed his eyes once more.

_ Mega. _

Dick could tell that he wasn’t going to be getting much sleep that night.

\---

Dick sat on his front porch, rocking lazily in his rocking chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand; dry, and with no ice, just how he liked it. He sighed as he considered everything that had happened with that Mega fellow. He didn’t trust him one bit, and it bothered him down to his very core that he didn’t know _ anything _about the man, save for bits and pieces of things.

He would just have to plan. He would have to try and get Mega alone, talk to him one-on-one. He had a hunch, in the back of his mind, that this _ Mega _was working for the Chimera Gang, and maybe that’s why he was so secretive. It would make the most sense, Dick thought to himself. Why else would a man turn down the likes of Tatiana, if they weren’t a member of the most dangerous gang in the west without the ability to stay tied down to one woman for long, nor with an ounce of human decency in their body?

“Focus, Dick,” he said aloud, shaking his head in a poor attempt to clear it. “How do we get Mega alone long ‘nough t’figure out just who’n th’sam hell he is?” He sipped at some more of his whiskey, nearly jumping out of his skin as two loud gunshots rang out through the night. Dick jumped to attention, knocking back the final bits of his whiskey, and raced off in the direction of the shots.

Tatiana’s saloon was across the town, small as it was, but there was still a crowd of people around the front swinging doors, all murmuring to each other in fear. Dick had just opened his mouth to disperse them when a loud crash erupted from within the saloon, followed by the doors being shoved open, the man in question himself, Mr. Mega, on top of another man, one Dick had never seen before. He was considerably leggy, far taller than even Dick, his dark and scarred skin glistening in the sun. The mysterious wanderer tackled the new man to the dirt, and the crowd gasped in unison, scrambling back as the pair fought for control. The newcomer was a dark-skinned fellow, his long, woolen poncho flying through the air as he fell.

The man had only gotten a hit or two in on Mr. Mega, who shoved his knee into the other man’s sternum, thus knocking the wind out of him. The wanderer used this to his advantage, quickly grabbing for the victim’s gun, trying to press the barrel of the long shotgun into his underjaw, in the soft spot that would elicit an immediate kill.

When Dick realized his intentions, he quickly sprung into action, cocking his own gun before shoving him aside. “That’ll be enough outta you, Mr. Mega!” He glared down at the man’s solitary eye, and it glared right back in return. “There’ll be no killin’s this eve, nor _ any _ eve! I dunno where the blazes you came from, but in this town, murder is punishable by _ hangin', _ do you wanna be _ hanged_, boy?! And you!” He nudged the second man with his foot. “Get yer ass outta here, ‘less you wanna see the gallows s’well.”

He ran off for the hills, silent save for his gasping breath that had been returned to him; his overalls were rolled up to the ankles, and he wore a bright red shirt under them. He flopped his large head that had been knocked off in the scuffle. The man in black, however, had some choice words for Dick. “What th’hell d’you think yer doin?! That man was-!”

“_A victim of yer sorry crimes, boy_, now I’m gonna be nice and let y’off with a warnin’, but not without a night in my office, y’hear?” He grabbed his handcuffs that were hooked onto his belt, slipping them around Mega’s wrists as he shoved him for the sheriff’s office, the man in chains cursing Dick the whole way.

It was going to be a long night.

\---

“Get yer sorry behind in there, ya son’f a bitch!” Dick cried, kicking open the heavy door of the sheriff’s office with his boot. He maintained a fearsome grip of Mega’s wrists as he dragged the man into the room. He’d long since stopped resisting and had fallen into a sullen silence.

“Sheriff?” Kevin began, a little dazed. He was dragging his feet down from his desk where he had been reclined, blinking his eyes open in a way that told Dick he had surely been snoozing, the Chimera gang wanted poster still in his lap.

“We got ourselves a guest, Deputy,” Dick snarled. He roughly pushed Mega into the cell, and Kevin hurried behind with the key.

“Ya makin’ a mistake, here, _ Sheriff_,” Mega spat, filling Dick’s title with venom and disdain. “A mighty mistake.”

“No!” Dick roared, his face red with rage. “No, I think yer the one who made the mistake, ridin’ into my town and actin’ like yer the law in this town. Ya ain’t the law, Mega. I am the law in this vicinity!”

“An’ the law just let a member of the Chimera Gang run free,” Mega scoffed. He sat down on the thin mattress laid atop the wooden bench with a huff.

“Another of the Chimera Gang is here?” Kevin said quietly. Mega ignored him, preoccupied with staring his one eye down at his scuffed boots.

“Cletus Jones,” Mega muttered, scuffing his heel against the dirty stone.

“We deal with the Chimera Gang, we ain’t havin’ no vigilantes operatin’ in Amarillo,” Dick continued, still yelling something fierce. He could likely be heard hollering as far as Houston’s Inn, but he didn’t care. “Far as I see things, the biggest danger ‘n this town is _ you _ . There were chil’rins in that saloon tonight! Lil’ Feurgin, he don’t understand. He coulda been _ hurt!"_

“I ain’t ever got an intention of harmin’ a child, Sheriff,” Mega said quietly.

Dick ignored him, whirling on his heel to face Kevin. “I already took the liberty of relievin’ Mr. Mega of his pistols, which you will find on this here gun belt.” Dick took off the belt in question and slammed it down on the desk. “My apologies to yer good wife, Deputy, but I cannot stand to look at this reckless, no-good snake a moment longer.”

“An’ I cannot stand to look upon a yellow-bellied, lilly-livered buffoon who couldn’t track a bedwagon through a bog hole!” Mega shot back.

Kevin sighed deeply, and took off his hat. “I’ll stay the night, Sheriff.” 

\---

What did Mega look like without that beard? These were the thoughts that kept Dick awake that night, pondering as he stared at the ceiling, still dressed as he flopped down on his mattress. In truth, the rage that had fuelled him to leave the man in black in Kevin’s care had left him the moment he had stepped through that door, and that made very little sense. His ma had always told him _ just ‘cause trouble come visitin’, don’t mean ya have to offer it a place to sit down. _ But that was exactly what Dick had allowed to happen. Mega was _ trouble_, and he’d taken a seat in Dick’s mind.

“He ain’t in the Chimera Gang,” he said quietly to himself, his fingers trailing up and down his own chest and stopping to play with the fringing on his breast pocket. “At least he say he ain’t.”

So a vigilante, or a bounty hunter, then. He knew sheriffs, out in Arlington and Borger, who welcomed vigilantes like an old friend. Made their job easier, they said, gave them results without them having to get off their lazy behind and deliver justice themselves. That was not the way Sheriff Big liked to operate. A man had a code, he had honor.

Why was he mad at Mega, truly? Was it his rash, violent temper? His willingness to take the law into his own hands? Or was it Dick’s own stupidity? He knew the name Cletus Jones, knew his face, and yet he’d been so consumed with thoughts of Mega, thoughts that confused and troubled him, that he let Cletus Jones escape into the night. What had he accomplished, exactly, other than providing Mega with a new enemy?

_ What did Mega look like without that beard? _ Would he have a friendlier countenance? Did that wiry bush of hair hide the capacity to smile? His ma had always told him that a smile would get a man further in life than a gun, but his ma was a trusting, god-fearing woman who never had to deal with the fools and vagabonds that populated Dick’s life. What did his jaw look like? Was it strong, and rugged like the rest of Mega’s body? How would it appear on a wanted poster?

Dick sighed up at the ceiling. _ A yellow-bellied, lily-livered buffoon. _ Those had been Mega’s words. Dick was never hurt by the taunts of jailed men. They cut him about as deep as a blunt razor would, but these words were a knife that sliced through to the bone. And he didn’t understand why.

How did Mega sound, when he wasn’t screaming in rage or muttering in quiet fury? Was his voice gruff from tobacco and drink, a voice as grizzled as his appearance and temperament? Or was it softer, a warm, comforting tone, in the rare times when he might be happy? Had he been happy once? Dick couldn’t imagine anything approaching joy to ever alight that shadowy figure.

Dick considered his hands. Were they calloused from years of travelling the land, of firing his pistol and handling his horse’s reins. Were they bruised, with badly-healed broken bones from his many fights? He recalled the blood on his knuckles; was that the blood of Cletus Jones or Mega himself. How might those hands feel against Dick’s own skin, in either a punch or a handshake.

Why was Dick tugging off his belt? Why was his hand travelling below the waistband of his trousers?

Why was he still thinking?

\---

“Mr. Mega, Imma need you to co-operate,” Kevin cautioned. The man in black stalked his cell like a cornered animal, his face sullen and his head downcast. He had put on his stetson once more, casting a shadow over his face and hiding his eyes from view. Dick sat silently, watching, at his desk, tapping his fingers lightly. His own mouth was pulled into a snarl. The previous night was like a distant memory, a fever dream. His thoughts, his actions, in the still quiet of his bedroom were a mirage in the desert as far as he was concerned, and one single look at Mega in the flesh, instead of in his mind, brought back his rage and his resentment.

“Mr. Mega,” Kevin tried again. He’d been awake the whole night, it had seemed, from the smell on him and his dishevelled appearance. Dick hoped that his sleeplessness was due to attempting to track Cletus Jones, and not the outlaw before them keeping him awake with insults and verbal batterings. “May I call you Curtis?” he asked.

“You may not,” Mega said through gritted teeth. He then made a show of spitting phlegm through the bars of the cell, landing on the floor inches from Kevin’s feet. Kevin’s lip curled at the sight, and he sighed, turning on his heel to approach Dick’s desk.

He dipped his head low, lowering his voice to a whisper. “It’s been like this _ all night_, Sheriff,” he groaned.

“If he will not cooperate,” Dick said, purposely loud enough to know Mega would hear him, “perhaps he should remain a while longer. Without breakfast.”

He could have sworn he saw Mega roll his one eye.

A polite knock interrupted the tension of the office, and a small, delicate hand pushed it open. “G’mornin’ Sheriff,” the doctor Barbara said. Her voice was timid, the way she usually spoke until she became involved in her work, after which it was difficult to quiet her.

“Barbara!” Dick said, giddy with relief. “Kevin, my friend, you may take yer leave an’ get rest. We can handle the situation.”

Dick waited for Kevin to gather his things, regarding Mega with a curious glance as he assessed the woman before him. His expression seemed to soften, if only slightly, in her presence.

“Mr. Mega,” Dick said when they were alone. “This here is Barbara, the doctor in this town. You may be tryin’ my last nerve, but I have a duty to make sure you are well.”

Mega sat himself on the thin mattress silently.

“I want ya to behave yerself,” Dick warned.

Mega huffed out a hollow laugh. “I ain’t in the business of disrespectin’ women, Sheriff.”

Dick unlocked the cell with trepidation and let Barbara inside. He was tempted to leave the cell unlocked, to stand in its doorway so that the doctor was not trapped inside, but in truth, he was not confident he could overpower the man in black. _ The muscles… _

He averted his eyes when the doctor asked Mega to remove his shirt, peered at him through the corner of his eye as she set to work observing his movements and examined the numerous wounds and scars that covered his body. Dick had been around plenty of men who worked the land, or got into fights, men who’d been stabbed and shot and trampled and lived to tell the tale.

He’d never seen so many scars as covered Mega’s chest and back. And yet, the sight did not repulse him, nor bring sorrow to his mind. He was reminded with a sudden jolt of his behaviour the night before, the behaviour he didn’t quite understand.

“I thank you, Mr. Mega,” Barbara said. “The man is well,” she told Dick. “Though I insist you allow him to shave. His beard is matted with blood that even bathing will not get out.”

Dick nodded, “I will ask Kevin to bring a razor.”

“I like my beard,” Mega scowled. In his hours of silence, this was the cause he chose to defend.

Dick unlocked the cell and ushered Barbara outside quickly, locking the cell behind him in a hurry. Mega looked amused at his haste.

“My thanks, truly,” Dick said, escorting Barbara out into the street. He cast his eye about the dusty road, but nary a soul was out, due to the earliness of the hour. “Be honest with me,” he said in a hushed voice all the same.

“Truly?” Barbara said. “I’m astounded the man is alive.”

\---

Later in the afternoon, Dick and Kevin sat at their respective desks, the room quiet, and filled with an intense awkwardness from the man in the far corner of his cell, who now rubbed at his freshly-shaven face with distain.

Eventually, seemingly out of nowhere, Dick let out a sigh of frustration, earning a jump from his deputy, but Mega didn’t budge. “Blast it, there’s _ gotta _ be _ somethin’ _ that _ somebody _in this town knows about that damned Chimera Gang!”

“I do, Sheriff,” Kevin piped up, looking him in the eye.

“Well? G’on, boy, spit it out, then!” Dick said impatiently, gesturing for him to continue.

Kevin took a deep breath before speaking. “I… I went over to the next town, Cactus, and…” he hesitated, squirming a bit in his seat, and it was evident that the subject made him uncomfortable. “He took a girl, Dick. Right out of her home, just… up’n took ‘er.”

At this, Dick’s heart sank into his stomach. “How d’ya know it was him? That’s a mighty unfortunate thing t’happen, but how-“

“They had a wanted poster, Sheriff, and it matched the description you gave of the man Mega was fightin’ to the _ very smallest of details. _I didn’t get much else information on him, but his name’s Cletus Jones and he’s killed three people.”

At the mention of Cletus, Dick noticed, Mega’s head raised ever so slightly. He’d warned Dick, or tried to. He’d told him he’d let a member of the Chimera Gang walk free, but he didn’t listen. And he was a damned fool for doing so.

Still, he wasn’t about to give Mega the satisfaction of being right. He didn’t say anything against it, simply gave a soft “Oh?”

Kevin nodded solemnly. “Yeah, and now we’ve no idea where he’s headed off to.” Just because Dick wouldn’t talk to Mega, didn’t mean that Kevin didn’t have the right to turn slightly and look back into the cell at the bearded man, whose gaze was hard.

“A damn shame, Kevin. A damn shame.” Dick said, shaking his head.

They were absolutely fucked.

\---

“Would ya care for some food, Mr. Mega?”

No answer.

“How ‘bout a drink, then?” Dick tried again. “We ain’t supposed to give ya the hard stuff, but I think I can make an exception in this case.” He drummed his fingers on the bars of the cell expectantly. The man in black did not even care to lift his head.

Dick sighed, his fingers now curling around the bars, his knuckles turning white in his right grip. “You have my apologies, Mega,” he said honestly, if a little reluctantly. “I missed my chance at stopping Cletus Jones, an’ some poor girl is payin’ for my poor judgement.”

Mega huffed. He lay on his side on the thin mattress, facing the bare wall. He’s removed his hat, revealing shaggy hair that had not seen a barber in some time, the strap of his eyepatch completely hidden within his mane. He was awake, the shake of his shoulders told Dick that. Just unco-operative.

“Yer have ev’ry right to find my actions frustratin’,” Dick said, “but I have to protect e’ryone in my town, an’ like it or not that includes you.”

Another bitter laugh.

“Mr. Mega, I do not want ya to fall victim to th’ Chimera Gang,” Dick sighed. “Yer actions will get ya killed, an’ I will not have your death on my conscience too.”

“It’s all about you, ain’t it, Sheriff?” Mega muttered.

“I see you need more time,” Dick said. “I will have Miss Tatiana prepare you a meal, but I ain’t lettin’ you go until I am satisfied that you ain’t gonna do somethin’ that’ll send you heavenwards.”

No answer.

\---

Dick heaved a heavy sigh as he hopped up on one of the stools at the bar of Tati’s saloon, mentally cursing himself as his boots swung a whole foot from the ground. “A beer, Miss Tatiana, if y’please.” He said, wiping a few beads of sweat away as they rolled down his temples.

“A beer?” The word sounded strange in Tatiana’s accent, as most words did. “What is wrong, Sheriff? Beer is not your drink of choice, it is your drink of relieving frustration. Talk to me.” She said, obliging.

“It’s just _ Mega_. I can’t get through to _ anyone _ in this damned town, I’ve _ no _ information on who ‘e is, none connectin’ him t’the Chimera Gang - _ thank you _ \- but I cain’t just _ let ‘im go_, now can I? That’d be mighty irresponsible of me.” He knocked his drink back, finishing half of it in one go.

“As irresponsible as that?” Tatiana’s usually monotonous voice showed a hint of amusement as she pointed across the saloon over Dick’s shoulder.

“What’re you- _ oh god bless it _-!” Dick abandoned his beer as he made his way over to Al, who’d shoved a guy. Dick had to cover his nose for how badly Al reeked of alcohol. “Alright, friend, c’mon, I’ve got a nice bed waitin’ fer ya-“

“B’he was tryna lay hands on that there lovely lady!” Al slurred, pointing over at Matthew Wilson, the General store owner, and his wife, Darla. “How _ dare _ y’put yer hands on such a _ beautiful _ woman, you… you…” he hesitated, trying to find the right words. “_General Store guy!" _He turned to Dick, leaning against him for support, and Dick struggled to keep him upright. “Y’know, mister Sheriff, he tried t’sell me glass’a lemonade fer th’price a’two, ‘not a penny less’, ‘e said. Well, _ guess what, Mr. General Store guy!_”

Al reared back to hit the man, but Dick made haste to grab his fist before he could do so. “Alright, Alright, let’s get goin’, friend.” He said, tugging Al back to the jail. Once they arrived, however, Dick realized what a predicament he was in: he’d given Al’s usual cell to Mega. “No matter,” Dick said, nudging Al into the cell with Mega. After all, what could go wrong?

Quite a bit, apparently. Not even an hour had passed and Dick was already letting Al out of the cell, Al bleeding profusely from the nose. There had been a scuffle, he’d asked too many things of Mega, and the man in question had grown tired of them and just socked the drunk in the face. Al had stumbled back, howling and clutching at his face, and Mega damn near landed another fist on him as Dick fumbled for the keys. He threw open the bars, hurrying to separate the two before Mega could get another hit in, and missed a hit himself. “_Whoa _ there, partner!” Dick cried, ducking quickly out of the way of Mega’s fist. He grabbed Mega by his wide shoulders and hurling him backwards. He landed awkwardly against the wall, and he slumped down, laughing. “That’ll be ‘nough outa you!” Dick roared, heaving Al up over his shoulder. He locked the cell back, then led Al back out the door to the outside world. “Be careful, and don’t draw attention to yourself,” he warned. "These streets have more dangerous men than Mr. Curtis Mega."

But Al was already heading in the direction of the saloon. 

\---

Dick opened up his desk drawer, where he kept his emergency stash of whiskey and tobacco. It usually remained untouched until the winter months when the nights got frightful cold and the whiskey was used to warm his belly, but he was justified in drinking it that night.

Mega remained where he fell, when Dick pushed him from Al’s stumbling, drunken form. His back was hunched, arms resting over his knees with his legs splayed. His head was cast downward, his one eye closed to the sights of the room. He’d landed awful close to the bars.

Dick slumped down against the wall on the opposite side of the bars, and took a long swig of the drink. It burnt his throat as it went down and although he didn’t intend to, he flinched a little. He watched Mega for a long moment, silent, dark and still, and heaved out a heavy sigh. He raised the bottle, his hand hovering for a second as he considered passing glass to the man, before clinking the neck against the bars.

Mega opened his eye slowly but didn’t lift his head.

“Take it,” Dick said. “Pretty sure ya could use it.”

Mega shrugged noncommittally but took the bottle all the same. He tipped his head far back when he drank, and Dick couldn’t help but notice the bobbing of his Adam’s apple sticking out from his neckerchief as he gulped.

“I want ter stop the Chimera Gang just as much as you do,” Dick said softly.

“I surely doubt that,” Mega said, huffing out a laugh. He swigged the bottle again. Mega didn’t flinch as the whiskey went down.

“Mr. Mega, I do not know your intentions,” Dick said. He held out his hand for Curt to return the bottle through the bars, and he did so promptly. “You may be a bounty hunter hired by an injured party in another state fer all I know. Hell, ya cert’nly look the part.”

“I ain’t no bounty hunter,” Mega muttered.

Dick drank again, a smaller sip this time. The stone against his back was cold and uncomfortable, but he did not shift, as expressing his discomfort may have revealed a weakness in him. “All the same,” he said. “It is my duty to uphold the law, and the law here is that the Chimera Gang must answer fer their crimes at Judge Perkins’ convenience.”

“Men like Cletus Jones ain’t respectin’ no law, Sheriff,” Mega said, his tone warming a little, or perhaps that was Dick’s hope. “The only justice they face is that delivered by the good Lord himself when ‘e casts ‘em to the fiery pits of Lucifer’s hell.”

“Their souls are surely damned,” Dick agreed, handing Mega the bottle once more. “If ya don’t mind me askin’, if you ain’t no bounty hunter, what business do ya have trailin’ the Chimera Gang across the state of Texas?”

“They stole somethin’ from me,” Mega said, matter-of-fact.

“An’ what would that be?” Dick asked. “Money? Property? A horse? A lady?”

“I ain’t got no lady, Sheriff,” Mega said, a small smile teasing at his lips. It was gone as quickly as it arrived. “Those bastards stole my best friend from my side an’ from this world, an’ all just to take his stallion.”

Dick was quiet for a moment, lost in thought at Mega’s confession. Did Dick _ have _ a best friend? He was particularly averse to letting folks come close to him, for fear of their safety with his dangerous profession. He supposed Kevin would be his closest companion, but would Dick travel the length of the state seeking vengeance for his own death? He was doubtful.

“Your friend musta been a mighty fine fella,” Dick said, already feeling like his comment was a useless comfort.

“That he was,” Mega said, wistfully. Dick was astounded how expressive his face could truly be, without his beard. He looked less wild, less fearsome. “Me an’ Owen known each other nigh on twenty years. Ya would not believe it, Sheriff, t’ look at me, but we were shepherdin’ for that time. Out in the mountains. Months at a time our only company would be one another.”

“I imagine you would get mighty close in those circumstances.”

“You imagine correct, Sheriff,” Mega said, his gaze on the bottle hanging loosely in his grip. “An’ Owen always warnin’ me, _ Curt Mega, don’t you go ridin’ too far where I ain’t find you. The mountains can be mighty dangerous for a shepherd alone. _ But I never listen.”

“Owen was alone, at the time?” Dick asked softly.

“His body lay cold before I even arrived back at the tent, his horse gone,” Mega said. His voice was uncomfortably hollow, as if all emotion had been stripped from him. As if he was reciting words someone else had written for him. It was unnerving.

“How d’ya know it were the Chimera Gang who killed him?” Dick asked. “If they were long gone when you arrived?”

“They left behind a message,” Mega said bitterly. “A symbol upon his chest in chalk. A symbol I now know from the hobo signs to represent the Chimera Gang. Ain’t you seen the chalk upon the wall of the bakery?” Mega leant his head back against the cold stone, closing his eye. His voice was dripping with sorrow. “They had no reason to. We had no quarrel with them; we were solitary men. But they wanted whoever found ‘im to know it was them. They only understand fear an’ bloodshed.”

“I’m dreadful sorry, Mr. Mega,” Dick said. “If you’d only told me this sooner, we might have avoided our own quarrel.”

“Ain’t no use in regrets,” Mega shrugged. “My only regret is not bein’ there in Owen’s last moments. I hope it was quick when he died. I hope he went quickly an’ was not fearful an’ was not waitin’ for me.”

“Mr. Mega,” Dick said, sighing. “I do believe I no longer need to hold you in bondage. I shall let you go.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Mega said, quietly.

Dick pulled himself to his feet, keys jangling on his belt as he did so. Mega stood, but was in no hurry to leave the cell.

“I cain’t control what actions you take out on th’ road,” Dick said, “but I stand by my word. The law is followed in my town.”

“Ain’t no worry, Sheriff,” Mega said. He extended his hand for a handshake, which Dick took firmly. “The Chimera Gang have moved on from Amarillo, an’ so shall I.”

“I wish you luck,” Dick said, and stepped aside to let the man in black pass. Mega tipped his hat as he passed, and Dick watched after him as he crossed the creaking wooden floor.

“Mr. Mega!” he called out, just as Mega was pushing open the door.

“Sheriff?”

“I reckon a shepherd may have some trouble trackin’ down a ruthless gang all of his lonesome,” Dick said, sounding more brave than he felt. “He could use the experience of a marshall of the law.”

“Whadaya sayin’ Sheriff?”

“I’m sayin’ if you are goin’ out huntin’ this gang, then I am coming with you,” Dick said. He took a few steps closer, until he was within touching distance of the man, and lowered his voice. “You may shoot them, but to maim, not to kill. We will apprehend the fiends alive. They will face trial, an’ they will face the noose. An’ all of Texas will know that they paid for their crime against your friend.”

“Sheriff,” Curt said, the ghost of a smile playing at his lip, “you have yourself a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to note:  
1\. We both generally identify Susan as non-binary, but we couldn't resist making a joke around A Boy Named Sue, so in this fic, Susan is a cis male.  
2\. Yes, Curt Mega's horse is called Colt Mega.  
3\. Yes, we've basically done a crossover with The Trail To Oregon. Don't expect much to come of that. We were just running out of characters to flesh out our world and Cletus Jones naturally seemed a good fit for the Chimera Gang. And having General Store Guy just seemed funny.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, broadlicnic's original character Kevin Derry exists in this universe and he still loves milk.


End file.
